Independence Day
by KDMOSP
Summary: "And if you could do anything, anything at all, you would go back to July 4 and change every bit of that day." Character death


**AN: Short and not sweet, character death.**

You sit on the familiar red couch, ringing your hands together. Today is tough, it is a hard day, and one you have been dreading for months now. The first anniversary, July 4, 2017 will be the first anniversary.

And if you could do anything, anything at all, you would go back to July 4 and change every bit of that day.

But the fact is you cannot, nobody can- and this is exactly why you are sitting where you are right now. Because the overwhelming guilt is still very present in your life.

And it is ever powerful today.

So much so that you have taken a Xanax again… you have been taking them since last month, it isn't a problem, and you still have well over thirty pills reaming. But have noticed that they do take that edge of. You realized you needed them when you couldn't sleep, couldn't focus, couldn't work… and these tiny pills help so much. You are careful though, your refuse to take them if you know it will be a hard day at work, or really if you are going to work, if you are going to drive, or do anything except sleep.

Except today. You had to take one earlier, the flashbacks were horrific, the nightmares kept coming mercilessly, you couldn't eat without throwing it all back up- and you resigned yourself that you had to take one. And within fifteen minutes, you had relief. Somehow, you had managed to get out of bed, take a shower, and eat a banana, the food had helped clear your mind a bit.

But then you had sat in your home, and allowed yourself to cry. Nobody was home, and nobody would know, but the tears were coming and you allowed it to happen. One year. It has been one year.

And your therapist had been kind enough, accommodating enough to facilitate an appointment for you on a holiday, on her holiday, she had opened her doors and welcomed you in. She knew today would be rough and had done her best to prepare you for it.

Last week you had talked about self-care, and being kind to yourself. Talked about making plans for the day or doing something for yourself. All of those ideas sounded great, until last night when you utterly fell apart.

Now, you are not even sure you get through today. The guilt is saturating, heavy and digging deeper into your soul every second the clock ticks closer to 12:23- when it will be exactly one year.

And at 12:23 you will be in your therapist's office, trying to be brave, and refusing to cry. You do not cry in front of her, even though she encourages you to.

But as the clock ticks and ticks, the familiar surroundings of the office ebb away, and you find yourself back to the restaurant, the sounds, the smells, it is all back.

"Agent, come back to me…" You hear your therapist saying softly, kindly and you want to, you want to come back to her, but your mind is stuck in the past.

"Agent, it is over, it is done. It is in the past, you are safe. Listen to my voice, I want you to fill the soft couch your sitting on, smell the lavender in the air, see the rain falling outside…"

You are listening to her voice, and your fingers slowly stroke the soft fabric of the couch, you fill the rivets in the cushioning, and hear the rain falling as the scent of lavender fills your nose. The restaurant slowly fades away and you find yourself gasping for air as nausea returns.

You shake your head, trying to get the horrific images out of your mind.

"I…"

"It isn't your fault, agent." Connie's voice is kind and reassuring.

"How is not my fault?" You ask, filling tears brim your eyelids.

"How is it?" She turns it right back on you.

You lick your lips. "I should have known…"

Connie instantly interrupts you. "I know FBI recruits highly intelligent, capable people, I didn't know it was a requirement for them to come with psychic abilities."

You smile at her and nod in defeat; she was right.

"Agent, I want you to listen to me. You had no idea when you went into that building what was to happen, from what you told me, the gunman was not even someone you were looking at." She pauses and makes sure she has your full attention. "You went into that building to have lunch with your team, to enjoy time together as friends. You did not enter that building as FBI agents, you entered as friends."

"But…"

"No, there is no but. What you did do that day is save lives, have you considered that?"

You shake your head.

"Without your intervention, how many other people in that crowded restaurant would have died?"

You bite your tongue.

"More than one, agent. And that one was your agent, but she died saving the life of an innocent child. That child might have been next…"

You swallow.

"Because of your actions that morning, a little girl is growing up in the arms of her parents, grandparents are celebrating today with their grandchildren, brothers and sisters are still together, husbands and wives, because you were able to take him down within a few seconds."

And a tear falls down your cheek.

"Agent Hotchner…" You look up to see Connie tearing up. "Agent Jareau's death was not your fault; she died a hero, and you made sure the world knew that."

You sniff and nod. "Thank you."

"You will never stop missing her, but instead, you will learn to live with her loss. Her memory will live on, and it will be those happy moments that will replace that horrific few moments. The years you spent together will be the memories you dwell on instead of the last one. Agent, grief is normal, guilt is normal, but your agent did not die alone, she died in your arms. She died a hero serving her country on Independence Day. "

And images of JJ laughing, smiling, talking fill your mind and the image of her lying lifeless in your arms is shattered by happier ones.

And one day, you hope, Connie will be right; that you can talk about JJ and smile. But until then, you will continue to sit in Connie's office and reminisce on the happiest times you spent as a team, with JJ.


End file.
